


to your marrow

by salvage



Series: you better make me [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Sleepy Cuddling, jeez and i thought i was ashamed of the one where they have brutal unemotional sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 05:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6410086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvage/pseuds/salvage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux was very, very tired. Ren changed his plans accordingly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to your marrow

**Author's Note:**

> me in january: what if hux kicked ren and then sloppily fucked his face? haha yeah.  
> me now: what if hux was sleepy and ren gently took his clothes off and they kissed?
> 
> so many thanks to Suzelle, as always.
> 
> title from ["the nothing part ii"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pdqsUML8wv0) by lady lamb the beekeeper, which i thought was too perfect for this story not to link to here.

As a rule, Hux preferred not to use the remote door activation controls built into the control panel of the communications array in his quarters on the _Finalizer_ ; to remain seated when receiving a visitor would be disrespectful to the members of the organization he held in esteem and would make him appear less intimidating to anyone else. But when Kylo Ren’s distinctive and archaic knock rang through the room, Hux couldn’t seem to find it within himself to get up. When the door opened, Ren hesitated in the doorway, wild hair illuminated by the white lights of the hallway behind him. 

Hux’s eyes closed momentarily and it was a struggle to open them again, knowing that Ren would still be standing there, wanting from Hux what he always wanted. His jaw and shoulders and knees and back ached and he still had at least five reports to sign off—unit commanders accounting whole squadrons of Stormtroopers lost and officers describing billions of credits of equipment all destroyed—before he could sleep. He also still had to complete and submit his own formal written report detailing the loss of years of research and planning and engineering work, years more of searching the galaxy for the planet with the proper core properties and atmospheric properties and proximity to its system’s star. The thought was daunting. 

The door closed as Ren stepped into the room, pneumatic whisper, muffled thud-click of the locking mechanism. Hux spent a moment searching for the words he needed, suddenly distracted by how dry his eyes felt when he opened them, how much he just wanted to close them again. Ren stood near the door, unusually inscrutable, one of his pale hands twitching slightly at his side. He swayed forward slightly. Hux was very aware of how cold his own hands felt.

“I don’t,” Hux finally said. It sounded like a sigh to his own ears. Once it had been clear that Hux would not be able to leave the bridge of the _Finalizer_ for the foreseeable future, some time at the end of Beta shift or the beginning of Gamma shift, he had gone back to his quarters for just long enough to step into the refresher and put on a new uniform, but he had neglected to shave, so now when he brought his left hand to his face two days of stubble scratched under his fingertips. His breath felt warm on his cold fingers as he exhaled.

Some expression flickered across Ren’s face, pulled strangely to the left side by the big pink scar that traversed the bridge of his nose and his right cheek and his crooked jaw. Ren finally crossed the room, boots heavy, the fabric of his robes sweeping softly, and knelt at Hux’s feet. His shoulders moved as he breathed.

Hux’s jaw ached when his teeth ground together.

Ren leaned in, curling a bare hand around Hux’s leg just below his knee, pressing his face to Hux’s thigh. His eyes were half-closed and his mouth half-open. The scar looked very pink; the skin around its edges was still mottled red and white from the artificial healing process. Ren pressed his lips to the inside of Hux’s knee. Hux felt very tired. Ren slid a hand down the back of Hux’s boot to his ankle, then his heel, and he cupped the underside of Hux’s leg, the curve of his thumb and first finger cradling Hux’s calf. “Tell me to stop,” he said. 

The words didn’t seem able to assemble themselves in Hux’s mind.

Ren slid his boot off. His hand felt large and warm around Hux’s ankle, curving around the tendons and small protruding bones. As he slid his hand up Hux’s leg his fingers splayed. Hux covered his face with his hand. Ren slid his hand back down, around Hux’s heel, holding his foot with comfortable pressure. He dug his fingertips up into the arch of Hux’s foot and Hux couldn’t suppress a sharp intake of breath. Too quickly, Ren moved on to his other leg, sliding off Hux’s other boot with the same care, hands cradling his calf and his ankle. Fingers pressed into the sole of his foot. Hux swallowed the sound that threatened to escape from his throat.

Ren stood, then, placing a hand on the armrest of Hux’s chair and leaning over him. Hux’s hand was still over his eyes. 

“Tell me to stop,” Ren said again. Hux said nothing. Ren took hold of Hux’s wrist where his sleeve had fallen back and gently pulled his hand away from his face. Hux looked up at him. His eyes were dark and the pale skin of his unscarred cheek looked a little flushed. His lips were slightly parted. Pink and full. His fingertips were warm over the tendons and pulse in Hux’s wrist. 

“Come on,” Ren said. He let go of Hux’s wrist, then straightened and stepped away from the chair. His arms fell to his sides. His sleeves almost reached his knuckles. The edges were ragged. “Come on,” he repeated. His voice was soft, or maybe it was just that Hux wasn’t used to hearing it without the static of the mask’s voice modulator. 

Hux gritted his teeth together as he pressed his palms to the arms of the chair and pushed himself up, suppressing a sigh by sheer willpower. Humiliatingly, he swayed as he stood; Ren extended a hand but not so far as to touch him. Ren’s eyelashes flickered as he drew his gaze down Hux’s body and then up again and, as though satisfied, he turned and walked toward the door to Hux’s sleeping quarters. Hux followed numbly. 

Fingerprint locks were not activated on the doors within Hux’s suite, so Ren was able to open the door, his long pale fingers skating across the sensor. He hesitated just inside the door, manually adjusting the environmental controls so that by the time Hux entered the room, the lights had dimmed to what seemed to be fifty percent. 

“Here,” Ren said, nonsensically; he stopped Hux just beside his bed and crowded into his personal space, his hands trembling between their bodies before they alighted on Hux’s chest, skating gently up to his collar and bringing the edges of the material together so that the hook and eye clasps holding it together would unlatch. The backs of his knuckles just brushed the underside of Hux’s chin; Hux drew in a sharp breath. Ren let one finger drift across Hux’s throat before unfastening the second clasp. Hux breathed out when their skin no longer touched. Ren worked his way down Hux’s uniform, fingers fluttering, sometimes brushing against Hux’s chest for a moment. The room warmed.

Ren fumbled with Hux’s belt, fingers clumsy around the buckle before he unlatched it. It hung heavily from Hux’s waist as Ren unhooked the last of the clasps of the jacket, exposing Hux’s thermoregulatory undershirt. Ren’s hands drifted up Hux’s chest again, the tips of his fingers under the open edges of his jacket, just barely touching the fabric of Hux’s shirt. Hux’s eyes closed and he tensed, suppressing a shudder. Ren flattened his palms to Hux’s shoulders and slipped them under the jacket, rolling Hux’s shoulders back and easing it down his arms, his hands following the lines of Hux’s arms, the swell of his biceps, the knobs of his elbows, the curves of his forearms. The jacket fell to the floor. Ren clasped Hux’s wrists for a convulsive second, the sleeves of Hux’s shirt too thin a barrier between Hux’s wrists and Ren’s warm hands, then released them.

Ren placed his hands on Hux’s stomach, palms flat, fingers spread over Hux’s waist. He gently pushed forward until Hux took a step backward, nearly tripping over his jacket, and then another step; the backs of his knees collided with the edge of the bed. 

“Sit,” Ren said, not making eye contact with Hux, hands still warm on his stomach. 

“Hang that up,” Hux responded, looking at his crumpled uniform jacket, but he sat on the bed. Ren stepped back from him and immediately dropped to a crouch, picking the jacket up with the same gentleness he had used to remove it from Hux’s body, holding it up in front of him and passing a hand over it to remove any wrinkles. As Ren’s bird hands fluttered around his jacket Hux lost the battle with exhaustion and closed his eyes, still seeing afterimages of the room behind his eyelids: Ren’s dark form, his pale hands, the jacket held like an idol. 

“Lie down,” Ren’s voice said. He was in front of Hux again. “Lie down,” he repeated when Hux opened his eyes. His fresh scar was pink and soft. It pulled his eyebrows together slightly—no, Hux realized, giving up and leaning back on his elbows, swinging his legs up onto the bed. Ren’s eyebrows were just currently drawn together. Navigating Ren’s facial expressions was frustrating; Hux had gotten so used to reading into the slight variations in his voice as projected through the modulator on his mask that being able to see Ren’s whole expressive face, his mobile mouth and demonstrative eyebrows and wide dark eyes, was almost baffling to him. Ren’s lips were parted. He looked earnest.

Hux wasn’t even surprised when Ren climbed onto the bed on his knees, hovering over Hux, balancing with one hand beside Hux’s torso. His hair fell forward, curling around his face. Hux wondered if his scar ached. 

Ren pushed Hux’s shirt up at the waist, palms to Hux’s skin, leaning back on his heels with his knees on either side of Hux’s hips. A single violent shudder racked Hux’s body. 

“Shh,” Ren murmured, and leaned down over Hux, their bodies just barely touching, chests and hips and thighs, and he braced his forearm beside Hux’s shoulder and pressed his face into Hux’s throat. “Shh,” he whispered again to Hux’s skin. He was so, so warm. Hux’s body arched up into him. 

Ren’s mouth moved against Hux’s throat, a soft drag even after Ren stopped hushing him, along his jugular and under his chin and down to the collar of his shirt, leaving his skin and then pressing to it again and again. He breathed out, warm and humid. His nose pressed into the stubble at Hux’s jaw. Hux wanted to ask what he was doing. He didn’t want him to stop.

Hux’s breathing was quick and shallow as Ren, still pressed on top of him, slid his hands up his sides and around his back, splayed against Hux’s shoulderblades.

“Sit up,” Ren said into Hux’s neck. He sat back a little and lifted Hux up off the bed and pulled Hux’s shirt over his head. Hux lifted his arms obediently and fell back, feeling boneless. Ren tossed his shirt somewhere and, not quite looking at Hux, efficiently removed his own outer tunic, also tossing it aside. He still wore a thin black undershirt, high-collared and long-sleeved. Hux remembered the shining dark ring of blood saturating the fabric around the wound in his torso when Hux picked him up off the snowy forest floor. As though in a dream, he lifted one heavy arm and lightly skated the tips of his fingers over the place where the wound had been, catching the thin material of Ren’s shirt and pulling at it slightly. “No,” Ren said, suddenly still. “I won’t—I can’t take it off.” 

“Fine,” Hux breathed, not even sure that had been what he wanted, too tired to argue. His hand dropped back down onto the bed. 

“I—I’m sorry,” Ren murmured, leaning over him again. His body radiated warmth. The material of his shirt was soft. He pressed his face to the base of Hux’s throat. “I can’t,” he said again, almost as though to himself, dragging his lips again over Hux’s skin. He kissed Hux’s collarbone and the hollow just below it and the ridges of his sternum, the flat skin over his pectoral muscle, the bumps of his ribs and the curve of the bottom of his ribcage. At some point, Hux had started trembling. Ren’s hands seemed big where they were splayed on his body, maybe holding him in place. Ren breathed out with his nose under the hollow below Hux’s ribcage, his mouth open over Hux’s belly. Hux curled his fingers in the sheets. 

Ren moved back up Hux’s body, soothing his hands over Hux’s chest and sides and shoulders, leaning on him so Hux could feel his steady warmth and quick even breaths as Hux shivered and struggled to breathe evenly. Ren ducked his face toward Hux’s neck again but Hux rolled his head to the side and, with some monumental effort, opened his eyes to look at Ren. His vision seemed blurry; he blinked, but it didn’t help.

Ren made a small noise in his throat and then slowly leaned in. Hux closed his eyes again. Ren kissed him. His lips were soft and hesitant, pulling away from Hux’s mouth after just a moment. He traced his fingertips up the side of Hux’s face. The ragged edge of one nail scraped over Hux’s cheek slightly. He brushed his thumb under Hux’s eye, just barely touching his eyelashes. He leaned in; Hux could feel his proximity, the shallow puffs of his breath across Hux’s skin. His whole hand cupped Hux’s face. Hux tipped his chin up and they kissed again, still and close, Hux’s body trembling somewhere far away, bare under Ren’s hands.

“You should sleep,” Ren murmured against Hux’s mouth. He pressed their lips together again, as though to forestall an imagined argument, or as though he couldn’t help himself. Hux breathed out slowly. Ren pulled away. 

Hux almost laughed when Ren sat back and began unfastening his uniform trousers. These movements were more elegant than Ren’s clumsy attempts at Hux’s jacket, of course; he had practice. Hux lifted his hips when Ren slipped his fingers between the fine material and Hux’s skin. Ren’s hand lingered on Hux’s thighs after he pulled his trousers off, skating his palm over the fine dusting of hair on Hux’s legs. Hux was too tired to feel aroused but he wanted to lean into Ren’s touch anyway. 

Hux’s hands felt numb but he somehow pushed himself up, tugging at the sheets until they pulled free of the military corners he had folded and he could maneuver his barely functional body underneath. Ren stood and Hux closed his eyes, already mostly asleep as the lights dimmed and the room was plunged into darkness. He was jarred awake by the feeling of Ren slipping under the sheets beside him. 

“What are you doing?” Hux mumbled. 

“Shh,” Ren hushed, fidgeting until he was comfortable. 

“Are you still wearing your clothing,” Hux tried to ask, the words slurring together, but before he could hear Ren’s reply, he was asleep.


End file.
